"Might be?" Solomon asked with a bit of an edge. Usually a petty comment like that wouldn't faze him all that much. This time, it was the pettiness that annoyed him, just because of how childish it was. Ravel was whining about robes, and had the gall to snap about Solomon's state? Really?

Probably wisely, Corrival steered him away so he couldn't actively look into Ravel's soul. "Your coat's just there," he said, and Solomon put out a hand to find the stand, fumbling a bit until he found his waistcoat. "I did, Erskine. Unlike some people, I didn't get to go straight to bed or revel at a bar last night. It wasn't worth arguing with him at the time and since he didn't forget it, it's not worth arguing with him now. I'd rather have them and not need them than need them, for whatever reason that might be, and not have them."

Corrival's presence drew away; Solomon found a spare place to hang the robes, and then, of course, had to go about figuring out how to take them off. He heard a faint slap and took a moment to figure it out as Corrival clapping a hand to Ravel's shoulder. "Sometimes you care just a little too much about what people think of you, Erskine. That's why I need you, but right now it's working against you. Wreath's right. You could argue with Tipstaff 'til the cows come home and get nowhere. If you don't want to wear them, just don't wear them."